Or do I hold a hopeless tryst

Here with a shadow, made of mist?

Now as will crumpled rose leaves, pent

By fingers we can never know,

Rouse with the richness of their scent,

Thoughts of a summer long ago,

All the expanse of land and sea

Speaks with a thousand tongues to me.

'Twas from coast we watched slow form,

Out of the frosty ocean's breath,